


Shingeki no Inhibitions (Kinktober 2018)

by fluffymusketeer



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Biting, Canon Era, Face-Sitting, Kinktober 2018, Multi, Sensory Deprivation, Spit Roasting, ass worship, feederism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-23 22:00:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16167734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffymusketeer/pseuds/fluffymusketeer
Summary: Drabble collection for Kinktober 2018. All SNK, all canonverse, multiple pairings! Manga Spoilers.





	1. Krista/Ymir

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! It’s past time I got back into the rhythm of writing regularly, and what better way to do it than having a crack at kinktober?! (hahahaaa *sweats*)
> 
> Since I don’t have the energy to write 30+ smutty drabbles in a month, I’ve decided to combine the prompts across two days. For example, the first drabble includes both face sitting from Day 1 and ass worship from Day 2. If all goes according to plan, there will be a different pairing for each drabble, including a few threesomes. There will be a focus on my favourite characters, but I hope there will be a little something for everyone in this collection by the end of it. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Quick disclaimer: It is not my intention to offend anybody regarding character pairings. I will tag each pairing as they appear, and clearly mark them in the corresponding chapter title, so you can avoid any character combinations you don’t wish to read. Please fanfic responsibly!

**Day 1 and 2 - Krista & Ymir – face sitting/ass worship**

“Not here,” Krista hisses through clenched teeth, the silky wetness in her underwear growing uncomfortably noticeable.

“I can’t help it,” Ymir replies, squeezing the curves of Krista’s backside beneath the tight white uniform pants. “Holy crap.”

“Ymir! You’re not even— _ah_ , listening!”

The sleepiness of the autumn forest surrounds them, and as Krista finds herself bent forwards over a fallen tree, the scattered leaves a cascade of red-gold tones, she cannot help but be lulled into its private embrace.

Which is a good thing, really, considering Ymir is currently tugging her pants down to expose her ass. “Is this… is this really necessary?” she whines, a whisper of chilly air licking at her bare skin.

“You’re the one who started it.” Ymir smooths two palms, hot and sweating, over her hips. “Don’t try to play innocent with me.”

Krista twists round and peeks through her eyelashes, feeling a strange combination of shy and smug. The reddish flush over Ymir’s high cheekbones, the beads of sweat on her forehead, the almost frantic way she’s palming Krista’s ass… it’s a strange kind of power to have over another person. Krista feels high on it. “Well, training was boring,” she whispers breathily, as Ymir traces delicate fingertips along the backs of her thighs.

Ymir offers her an amused smirk. Then she slides a finger between Krista’s legs, pushing her damp, sticky underwear out of the way.

“Ah! _Ymir_ ,” she gasps, body trembling with the sudden brush of pleasure across sensitive skin. She tries to open her legs wider, but the awkward way Ymir has only tugged her pants down to mid-thigh leaves her feeling snugly trapped, at Ymir’s mercy.

The afternoon sun is warm on her skin, filtered through the canopy above. Krista closes her eyes, enjoys the momentary peace along with the pleasure. That is, until she feels the unexpected sensation of teeth playfully nipping at one of her butt cheeks. “Wha—?”

She peers round to find Ymir on her knees in the leaf litter.

Ymir whispers something muffled, eyes mischievous, and nips harder.

“Oh my god!” Krista feels herself blushing furiously, glancing around the forest. If Shadis or the others find them…

Ymir winks and buries her face in the crease of Krista’s ass, mumbling appreciatively.

Krista covers her mouth, fighting the urge to wriggle away. She doesn’t know… is this too much? It’s hard to tell! She’s never had experiences with any other girls, Ymir is her first, and she seems so… so comfortable, so sure of herself, in a way Krista does not know how to be. Even in this, Ymir pushes their boundaries, always reaching for the stars. Krista knows if she wanted to stop, Ymir would, but the truth is… Krista likes her boundaries being pushed.

She takes a deep breath and tries to relax. Okay, so, Ymir likes her butt a little more than she’d previously guessed and… okay. That’s okay! She bites her lip, feeling a bit naughty, and flexes her hips. Just to experiment.

Ymir _moans._ Growly, desperate, gorgeous. She clutches at Krista’s hips, pulls them close for more, and Krista feels the delicate trace of a tongue between her ass cheeks.

She gasps. “You shouldn’t do that,” she murmurs, glancing furtively around the woodland grove. “It’s… dirty.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Ymir leans back and wipes her mouth.

“What?!” Krista squeaks.

Ymir’s sharp eyes rove over her, before eventually softening, a private expression she reserves only for Krista. “You’re always worrying about what people will think. I bet you’re worrying about it now.”

“What are you--”

“Look, do you enjoy it?” Ymir strokes a delicate finger down the back of her thigh. “Being with me, like this?”

“Yes.”

“Then stop worrying.”

Krista fidgets. Ymir can be so forceful sometimes, like a haughty eagle surveying its domain, swooping in to snuff out anything that gets on her nerves. It’s attractive, but it makes Krista feel so _exposed_.

“They’re training just through those trees,” she points out. “If they find us, we could be kicked out of the cadet corps!”

“And? Do you really care that much?”

“I--” Krista pauses.

Ymir looks dishevelled and annoyed, kneeling at her feet in the fallen leaves, but there is a strange look in her eyes, one that says; _I understand, take your time_. One that makes Krista think Ymir must know her better than she knows herself.

She glances around the clearing one last time.

Ymir gives her ass a rough pat. “Live a little, Krista.”

“Alright! Alright.” She bites her lip in contemplation, then turns around. “Lie down,” she says. “On your back.”

Ymir’s eyebrows rise up her forehead. “What do you plan to do with me?”

“Just do it already,” Krista hisses, fiddling with the belts around her legs and tugging her trousers down.

Ymir snorts, shakes her head. “Ay ay, your majesty.” But she cannot hide the flush of excitement creeping into her cheeks.

They will just have to explain the state of Ymir’s uniform on a fall, Krista decides, as Ymir flops back into the carpet of autumn leaves. She looks like a woodland nymph, the chestnut tones in her brown hair blending in to the leaf fall as it fans out around her.

Krista kicks off her boots and wriggles out of her trousers. “The ground is kinda… squelching,” she mutters, recoiling at the sensation beneath her bare feet.

“Put your boots back on,” Ymir suggests.

Krista does as suggested, then spread her arms out and cocks her hip, mischievousness returning. “So, what do you think?” She feels kind of silly – shirt and jacket still on, boots tugged over her bare calves, and the straps of her manoeuvre gear dangling uselessly around her naked thighs.

Ymir is staring brazenly at her exposed flesh, at the likely shimmer of arousal between her legs. She shifts awkwardly on the ground, no longer smiling. “Holy… get down here already.”

Krista crouches down and crawls over the prone woman before her, not stopping until she’s practically kneeling astride her head. “Like this?” she whispers.

“Fuck yes.” Ymir runs her hands over Krista’s backside again, skimming the curves, squeezing and caressing as she goes. “Actually, on second thoughts, can you…” Ymir trails off, and glances up with a weird look on her face. “Would you… uh…”

Wait. Is Ymir _shy?_

“Yes?” Krista asks, fighting a smile.

She has an inkling, and frankly it’s what she had intended anyway, but the sight of Ymir fumbling for words is too good not to prolong.

Ymir makes a desperate sound and uses Krista’s rump to tug her down, her legs forced wide. “Mmpf,” Ymir says, head muffled between her thighs.

They have done this before, tucked safely between the scratchy blankets of the dormitory... but never like this, never out in the open. As Ymir begins to gently lap at her wetness, Krista feels daring, reckless… on show.

Ymir stops and looks up. “Can you turn around?” she asks, chin shiny. She sounds a bit breathless.

_Oh, the ass thing._ “Sure.”

She shuffles around, awkward, trying not to knee Ymir in the head, before finally settling down facing the other way, back towards the tree.  Tentatively placing her hands on Ymir’s strong, supple stomach, she asks, “Is this okay?”

“Yes, baby.”

She feels incredibly exposed. Anyone wandering haphazardly into the clearing would get a spectacular view of some very private places, that’s for sure. But… “Oh, _oh_ ,” she says, as Ymir sets to work with her tongue, a warm slippery massage _right there_. Quick and relentless, because for all Ymir’s tough talk, they really _are_ doing it about a five minute walk from the training ground. It’s all Krista can do to muffle herself at the sensations as Ymir kneads her backside and encourages her to swivel her hips around in a delicate little rhythm that has Krista panting and gasping.

She puts a curious hand between Ymir’s uniform clad legs. “Fuck!” is the muffled exclamation from down below, before Ymir clamps her thighs down on Krista’s hand.

Ymir is _really_ wet, even her uniform can’t hide it, and as she grinds that damp patch frantically against Krista’s questing fingers, Krista cannot help but grind back. She rubs herself against Ymir’s willing face, faster, faster. It’s not so much tongue any more, just friction; warm, wet friction. “I’m so close!” Krista gasps.

At her words, Ymir comes, unexpectedly swift and violent, her hips going rigid, her thighs crushing Krista’s hand.

The muffled keening from between Krista’s legs is too much. “Ymir!” she cries, tensing as her body goes taut with pleasure, before desperately riding out her orgasm on Ymir’s tongue.

Ymir helps her, still trembling.

Krista thinks her knees might give way, but she doesn’t have long to contemplate action. There comes a sound of protest from below and she is summarily tipped to the side, landing in somewhat of a heap in the leaf litter. She rolls onto her back in a daze and stares at the crisp autumn leaves and scattering of berries, the world painted in shades of red.

“Need air,” Ymir pants, chest heaving. “Sorry. God, I love doing that.” Her warm nut-brown hair is strewn with leaves and her chin is a shiny, sticky mess. Unperturbed, she wiggles her eyebrows, looking ridiculous. “Did I ever tell you that you have a really nice butt?”

Krista puts her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. “Yeah,” she replies after a moment. “I noticed you were a fan.”

Ymir sighs contentedly, looking for all the world like she could go for an afternoon nap now.

“We should probably get up.” Krista cannot bring herself to move. “People will be missing us. It’s going to take forever to make ourselves presentable. Mikasa’s bound to guess what we were doing. Oh god, what if we get kicked out?! Ymir, quick, pass me my trousers!”

Her only answer is a reluctant groan.

“Hurry up!”

“You should really be more worried about spiders up your butt.”

“WHAT!” Sluggish limbs forgotten, Krista leaps up with a shriek and swipes frantically at her leaf-covered buttocks, wriggling and dancing on the spot. “YMIR! _HELP_ ME!”

At last, Ymir reaches for the discarded uniform, cackling. “Well, now they’ll definitely hear us.”

“Ugh! I don’t know _why_ I carry on with you,” Krista declares.

“Because you love me?”

The words land in the clearing like a lead weight in a still pond, the sudden silence of the autumn forest all too deafening. Ymir freezes as she realises what she just said, then flushes; Krista blinks in surprise at the sight, spiders forgotten.

“I mean… that’s… hah.” Ymir scratches the back of her neck. “Not what I meant to say.”

Krista isn’t ready. She can’t… she doesn’t know if she can be vulnerable yet. Not like _that_. If she allows herself to love Ymir, then she must do so fully, and that means exposing herself in ways far more terrifying than a little fun in the forest. She has so many secrets.

But Ymir is staring down at the uniform pants, screwing them between clenched fists, looking for all the world like she wants the ground to open up and swallow her. So Krista must do something, because she cannot stand by and watch someone in pain. Not when people have always done that to her, not when Ymir was the first person to really see _her_ pain.

Ignoring the twigs beneath her feet, she steps forward and wraps her arms around Ymir’s waist.  Krista searches for the right words, peering up into Ymir’s lovely brown eyes. “I carry on with you… because one day I know I will love you. I hope that’s okay. To keep… carrying on.”

“Y-yeah.” Ymir clears her throat. “Yeah, sure.”

They stay like that, two teenage girls in the burnished autumn woodland, soaking in each other’s warmth. It’s beautiful, training be damned, and Krista means what she says.

One day she will fall in love with Ymir. Can feel herself falling even now, as sure as the leaves fall from the trees all around them.

“Uh, Krista,” Ymir whispers after a while.

“Mm?”

“Don’t panic but… I think there might _actually_ be a spider crawling up your ass.”

Later, when they make it back to training and fumble through an unconvincing story to cover for the sheer volume of Krista’s scream, Mikasa just rolls her eyes.

Pretty obvious what _those_ two were doing.

 


	2. Eren/Hange/Levi

**Day 3 and 4 - Eren, Hange, & Levi - sensory deprivation/spit roasting**

 

It is Levi who forces the issue. Levi who finally snaps. Loses his temper when he returns from the Forest of Giant Trees.

Eren hears them arguing in furious whispers in the stairwell.

“What do you _mean_ you haven’t gotten anything out of him?” Levi hisses. “He’s a teenager, Hange, he needs discipline.”

“If you think you can do any better, be my fucking guest,” Hange grouches back.

Eren stares at the ceiling, wondering what Levi has done with his brother, if Zeke is even alive anymore. So when Levi turns up at the bars of his cell, fidgeting with agitation, and in an awkward manner proposes his weird ass solution (how does he even think up this bullshit?), Eren doesn’t have the energy to argue.

“Whatever you say, Captain,” he replies with a shrug. “I have no objections.”

“Is that all you have to say to me? To Hange? After everything?”

“I don’t know. Is my brother still alive?”

Levi turns on his heel and stalks off.

Thus Eren finds himself frogmarched to Hange’s quarters late one evening, Levi pushing him along with a scowl, looking for all the world like an executioner. Eren gets a brief glance of Hange’s expression at their desk - sad, lopsided - before he is summarily stuffed into a blindfold, squishy ear plugs following soon after.

“Comfy,” he mutters. But, of course, he cannot hear his own voice, just a strange static-y kind of nothing, the only indication of his words a dull vibration in his throat. Already his heartbeat is quickening, natural fear stocked by the sensory incapacitation.

He wonders why they haven’t gagged him, haven’t handcuffed him.

Colours shimmer behind his eyelids, the last gasp of his dying vision, before settling into a deep black glow, tinged with red. He still sees red, deep and blood-coloured.

What do they have in store for him? Torture? Another sound beating? _“Do you still trust us at all?”_ Levi had said outside his cell before the proposal. Eren had not known what to say. Yes, he does trust them, he supposes. With this, at least.

Whatever this is. He begins to have an inkling when he feels the delicate press of fingertips against his cheek, and another – less delicate – set of hands begin to undo the buttons on his shirt. The breath shudders out of him, soundless. Is it punishment? _“I think all three of us need to_ …” Levi had stumbled over his words before muttering, _“Clear the air.”_

It has been so long since anybody touched Eren like a normal human being. Even if all he has in store is a sound thrashing – the word punishment had definitely left Levi’s lips – just the luxury of having somebody’s hands on his body… it’s worth it. _Please hold me afterwards,_ he thinks. What a strange thought to have about his Commander and his Captain! But they are the only ones left. And he wants so desperately for someone to say _it’ll be okay._

They must sense his confusion, the hesitation quivering in his muscles, because a hand snakes over his cheek, an earplug is removed. “Eren, if you want us to stop at any time, just say Titan. This is not just for us.” It’s Hange’s voice, that odd reserved tone they’ve been using around him lately.

Levi snorts from somewhere across the room. “Titan?”

“Hey! It’s better than _your_ suggestion.”

Eren wants to ask what Levi’s suggestion was. But his mouth feels thick with nerves and anticipation. That brick wall he had to build around himself those final months is trembling. The thread of an emotion other than resignation is unravelling somewhere inside his head. “Do you hear me alright, Eren?”

“Yes,” he says, voice gruff. “I’ll say Titan if I want you to stop… Commander.”

“Good boy.” There is a sad sigh. “I do wish you’d talk to us, Eren. We miss you.”

A desperate whine escapes him before the ear plug is pushed back in, smothering the sound of his voice as it echoes through Hange’s quarters. _Fucking—_ was that _him?_ That sound of pure _need?_ “I miss you too,” he mumbles, but he cannot hear himself, the only sign his words register being the slight pause in one of the hands divesting him of his shirt.

When he finds himself left alone, standing with empty cold space all around, he grows breathless with anticipation. Long seconds tick by, marked only with his heartbeat loud inside his ears, _ba-thump, ba-thump._

The press of something into his palms makes him jump; he touches it, strokes it; a thin length of supple leather, coiled tight. A whip? There is a whisper of hot breath against his bare shoulder… Levi? Eren shudders, then nods. Alright… alright then. They need this, and maybe Levi is right, maybe he does too. Everything between the three of them is cracked and chipped, maybe it needs to be broken down completely in order to be remade.

The first crack between his shoulder blades stings largely because he cannot anticipate it. He does not know what sound he makes, only that he stumbles forwards, strangely off balance. It’s nowhere near hard enough to break the skin, fuck he’s seen Levi pet kittens with more force than this, and he imagines the man with his sleeves rolled up, sipping tea and lazily indulging whatever Hange thinks this will achieve. Imagines Hange biting their lip, second guessing themselves and everything they do.

 _I did that to you,_ Eren thinks into the void between them. _It should be you doing this, not him._

But Levi continues for a couple more lashes, a kind of pattern building up, and then all of a sudden… it stops. Nothing. Eren finds his legs are trembling. Is he really so weak, that he can no longer sustain a few light lashes from a whip?

Someone catches him when those legs give way beneath him, warm arms around his torso, lips whispering against the nape of his neck. Something wet and hot is dripping onto his skin; Tears. Hange is crying, at least he thinks it is Hange. Eren feels his own tears well up in answer, _no… please don’t cry,_ but it’s like the words are wedged fast in his throat.

Palms press tentatively against his pectoral muscles from the front, rough and uncertain, and Eren is enveloped by two bodies. Soft lips press against his and thank god someone is holding him up--

Eren hadn’t assumed this would be sexual. Didn’t even realise they _had_ an interest in him, not like that. Maybe Levi, once, as they spoke in low tones over cups of midnight tea with tired, soft eyes. And perhaps there was a time Hange used to glow as he harnessed his titan powers, brushed his bangs from his sweaty forehead afterwards just a bit too gently, but… Eren had never taken such matters seriously.

“Please,” he whispers, hoping they hear him. He wants to be held. Surrounded.

It’s all hands and lips after that. He stays oriented for a while. Hange is at his back, trembling, smells kinda like dust, squashing him with hugs. Levi shorter at the front, tastes of bitter tea, kissing rough and fast. But it’s easy to lose track when it’s all hands and lips, hands and lips… Eren reaches out to caress and finds his fingers tangling in shaggy knotted hair – wait, when did— his ass is squeezed roughly from behind, how—?

He’s sure he must be keening. He can’t keep it together, sinking to the floor and trying in vain to reciprocate before someone kindly takes the pressure off by wrenching his arms behind his back, binding his wrists with something cool and silky.

Eren barely registers when his trousers are removed, only feels the hoarse sound rip from his throat when his legs are spread and a purposeful finger starts to firmly work him open with cool lube. Another hand tends to his cock with gentle, caring strokes. “Fuck,” he mutters, in his head or out loud he doesn’t care. “Yes. Please, _please_.”

His heartbeat is deafening, his skin prickles with sweat. The blood-red haze behind his eyelids deepens.

“Take care of me,” he mouths, hoping they hear. It’s so good, to finally be held. For so many months in Marley, he sat like a remote island in a sea of potentially hostile faces, and before that… he’s been alone for so long, long enough to welcome even a kick to the face.

He imagines the sounds they are making as they touch him, Levi would be low and groaning, Hange high pitched and loud… “Please,” he whispers again.

When something thick and warm presses against his slicked, stretched entrance, he pushes back, knowing that they will hold him up. _Levi, Levi…_ the subject of many masturbation sessions over the years, Eren never thought that he would have him like this. Careful hands hold him still while he is penetrated. Eren hopes Hange’s quarters have thick walls because he is pretty sure he’s shouting.

For long minutes he is fucked slow and sure, sitting back on his haunches, his fingertips just able to graze the abdominal muscles working behind him, to trail through the sheen of sweat. It’s deep and gentle, soothing. “Levi,” he says, into the void. “You feel amazing.”

There is the slightest pause, and Eren whines. A thumb trails along his lower lip, teases his mouth open. Something presses against his cheek, suggestive… wait.

Is that--?

Eren trembles, confused. The hard dick rubbing gently over his lips is pretty fucking unmistakeable. _Now_ he wishes he could rip off the blindfold and open his eyes. He cannot tell Hange from Levi, Levi from Hange. Thought he knew their scents after years of working together, but all he smells is sex and sweat, all he feels is pleasure and relief.

He has heard of sex toys that mimic penises (Jean sure is a fucking gossip), is that what’s going on here? He thought Hange’s body was one way but… maybe he was wrong? Eren straightens his shoulders and decides, there and then, it doesn’t actually matter. It’s _Hange_. Hange who he has hurt, who he wants so desperately to tell everything, but knows he cannot, knows his own mind is a labyrinth only he can really make sense of right now. His secrets cannot fall into the wrong hands, and it is hurting them. And still they are offering him this connection, this comfort.

Maybe it is Levi in front of him; maybe it’s Hange. It doesn’t matter. He wants them both.

Eren begins rolling his hips again, and leans forward to take the tip of the cock into his mouth, trusting that they will keep him upright since his hands are tied. He’s not exactly experienced, a few fumblings here and there over the years with whoever would have him (not many), but he figures enthusiasm won’t hurt. He tries to take it as far down his throat as he can, gags on it, ends up coughing and spluttering, and feels like an idiot.

There is a pause then, the muscles behind him shaking, the thighs in front of him twitching. They’re laughing at him! He scowls behind his blindfold. “Give me a break, I’m trying my best,” he mutters.

They help him then, holding him still while he is penetrated slowly, deeply, rhythmically. The warm cock in his mouth moving gently in and out, just nudging into the inside of his cheek. He licks and kisses, and maybe it’s not all that impressive, but it swells and throbs inside his mouth, and the salty taste of precome grows on his tongue, so maybe he’s not doing that bad either.

His heart aches, he never wants this to end. Eren is so turned on it’s almost too much. 

They hold him upright as he comes untouched. He’s shouting to the rafters, he’s sure of it, but the static in his ears and red behind his eyes make him feel as if he’s floating somewhere far off, away from the horrors of the world.

He’s not sure when Levi or Hange come, his own skin feels too sensitive and sweat-soaked to really tell what’s happening any more. As he drifts back down to earth, he’s briefly aware of being wiped down with a wet cloth.

His body is mush. Someone unties his wrists, carries him to a bed which is soft with blankets and duck feather pillows. The blindfold and ear plugs are left up to him.

Eventually, after rubbing the feeling back into his wrists, Eren steels his nerves and removes them.

Hange’s quarters are dark. His eyesight slowly gathers itself in the low light of a single flickering candle, its red wax dripping onto the window ledge.

Eren finds himself facing Hange. They are bundled up in nightclothes, hair messy, watching him with a tenderness he hasn’t seen in years.

Levi’s muscular arms cling to him like a limpet from behind, soft snorty breaths gusting against Eren’s back. He twists round, feeling a little blindsided by the sight of Levi’s wild sleepy hair poking from beneath the blankets, the hint of flushed cheekbones, and—“Is that drool?” Eren whispers.

“For a vigorous guy, sex sure does knock him out,” Hange muses, stroking Eren’s bangs from his forehead in tender sweeps.

Eren turns back to them, their one good eye still wistful and melancholy, the other just a crumpled slice of skin over empty socket, eyepatch having been discarded for comfort. He thinks about Hange and Levi, all alone for years now, and wonders what the history is there. Sandwiched between them, Eren is curious as to why he is welcome.

As if sensing the train of his thoughts, Hange offers him a sad smile. “Our boy,” they murmur softly, pinching his cheek.

Ridiculously, Eren blushes. He ducks his head beneath the blanket.

“I’m sorry, Hange,” he mutters, after a while. Doesn’t quite know what it is he’s apologising for. Everything, probably.

“It’s okay,” they say, and press a soft kiss to his forehead. “Go to sleep. Get some rest.”

Eren does as he’s told.


	3. Levi/Sasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are my most beloved rarepair and they were a bunch of fun to write. For this fic, it felt more appropriate to the characters to focus on what some might call the more vanilla side of feederism, a desire to nurture/feed someone, rather than gaining, force feeding, or fat fetishism, so that’s what you’re getting… plus a little biting ;P

**Day 5 and 6 - Levi & Sasha - feederism/biting**

 

They both know hunger.

It is in the wary, covetous way he picks at his food; the neuroses over his teacup; the prim appearance which too obviously highlights his shame about where he comes from. A kindred spirit. So few others would even recognise the hunger, but Sasha knows it intimately.

All the same really, whether you grew up scrabbling in the alleyways of an underground city for leftover scraps, or grew up trying to enjoy yet another paltry meal because the hunt didn’t go well that day.

It’s all just hunger, all-consuming.

His steady gaze measures her from across the banquet hall as she wolfs down her lobster. She chokes a bit, inhaling when she should be swallowing, before cautiously glancing up.

Captain Levi sits with Commander Hange and the other military top brass at the head table, but his eyes are _fixed_ on her, guilty and fascinated. He looks so weird and out of place, blanking the conversation around him.

Sasha wipes the seafood juices from her chin, unable to keep from blushing.

It started quite by accident. A midnight raid on the kitchen, a feast of ill-gotten food. She hadn’t expected Captain fucking Levi of all people to wander into the kitchen in his pyjamas, yawning and carrying an empty teacup. He’d paused, and she’d frozen, slice of cherry tart halfway to her mouth, sugar already dusting her lips with guilt.

“C-captain! I didn’t--”

He just shook his head, continued on towards the stove to boil some water, holding his teacup as if it might break. As Sasha began quietly putting the food back into its packaging, belly roiling, he’d said; “You grew up hungry, didn’t you?” Just a few quiet words. For a moment, she thought he was talking to himself.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered back.

He had glanced over his shoulder and told her to keep eating, he wouldn’t tell anybody. At first Sasha thought it was mere kindness, or apathy, or perhaps just a socially awkward superior trying to be less intimidating to his subordinates. She thought that right up until he sat down with his tea, settling in to watch her eat with quiet contemplation. There was a faraway expression in his eyes. He seemed almost bewitched.

“Do… do you want one?” She offered him a strawberry.

“No.” He had given her a strange look. She might almost have called it shy. “Watching you eat is… not bad.”

Sasha smiled, still innocent, chalking it up to the Captain not being quite as scary as everyone said he was. It took her a long time to fully understand all the implications of his words, and all the implications of the darkness in his eyes.

She understands it now.

“Hey Sasha, do you want one?” Connie holds out a plump strawberry across the table, speared on a filigree fork, drizzled with double cream.

Sasha bites her lip and glances across the room, makes sure he is watching.

Then she leans over the banquet table and takes a bite.

 

The palace bedrooms are luxurious, draped in crushed burgundy velvet, with thick embroidered rugs of gold and scarlet. It’s great being a close personal friend of the queen, and even greater having a room to herself for the night. She adores Mikasa, she does, but just occasionally…

_Knock, knock, knock._

Just occasionally, Sasha desires to be alone.

She gives the array on her private table one last critical examination, checking for any stray crumbs or out of place cutlery. He likes it to be neat and perfect, something she has learned over time. Then she pads barefoot across the luxurious carpets and lets him in.

The first thing Captain Levi does is shove a bottle of champagne at her, awkwardly muttering something about not letting it go to waste, brushing past as if he’s terrified of being spotted out in the corridor, entering a subordinate’s bedroom.

“Champagne? For me?”

He rolls his eyes and shrugs off his ceremonial jacket, loosens his cravat around his neck, then makes for the table, gaze sharp and judgemental.

“I will just… open this then.” Sasha searches around the ornate drinks cabinet with its royal emblems for a corkscrew and champagne glasses, giving the Captain his space while he settles. _Levi,_ she reminds herself. It’s always a bit hard to stop thinking of him as the Captain, at least at first.

When she hears him drag out two chairs, it’s her own private sign that he’s done straightening up the table and feeling suitably relaxed. He watches her walk over, always that vague shadow of guilt hanging over him.

“You’re starting with the lobster?” she asks, handing him a glass of champagne. “I had lobster earlier, you know.”

He gives her a pointed look. “Yes.”

He’s set the two chairs facing each other, beside the table, a plate of delicately cooked red lobster on a bed of crinkly green lettuce within easy reach. Sasha had the servants deliver the food earlier, as they always do, piling it decoratively on the table in her room.

Careful feeding is their way. Sasha takes a seat, arranging her casual skirt and cardigan around her, waiting patiently while Levi fumbles a little with a linen napkin, before eventually reaching over to tuck it into the neckline of her blouse. Surprisingly delicate fingers skim over her throat before withdrawing, and she bites her lip. He gets to work, methodically cracking the lobster and preparing the meat. Sasha can feel her mouth watering at the subtle scent of garlic butter and parsley.

“You’re getting good at that,” she observes.

He gives her a slight smile, acknowledging the compliment. One leg crossed over the other, his concentration is on extracting the lobster flesh correctly, starting at the tail. She sips her champagne, trying to think up conversation to fill the silence, broken only by the sound of splintering shell.

“So, Nicolo invented a new crab dish for me,” she tells him.

“How romantic. Are you ever going to put that boy out of his misery?” His tone is measured, but still he has that little half-smile, so she knows he’s not annoyed.

Sasha cocks her head to one side and thinks about it. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

“Well, he’ll start looking elsewhere if you leave it too long.”

“Yeah,” she agrees with a sigh, propping her chin in her palm.

He pauses in his preparations to shoot a glare at her elbow on the table.

“Whoops, sorry.”

The first hint of heat since the banquet simmers in his eyes. “You can make it up to me.” He holds out the first delectable mouthful like a holy offering, resting delicately on the tip of the silver lobster fork, drizzled with butter and green flecks of fresh parsley.

The burst of flavour across her tongue is too much, and also just… _Levi feeding her_. Her eyelids flutter closed and she makes a low, appreciative noise. The answering huff of breath, embarrassed and undeniably interested, has her peeking through her lashes. There’s a flush across his cheekbones at her brazen enjoyment. “More?” he asks. He always asks, even though the answer is obvious.

Sasha nods enthusiastically.

Mouthful after mouthful, always prepared and offered with the utmost care, she devours the lobster. By the time they are finishing up, she cannot help but sigh at each bite, and there is a distinct bulge in the crotch of Levi’s uniform trousers.

She’s a little breathless when she asks, “Can I have a pomegranate next?” Sasha _loves_ pomegranates.

He hums an affirmative, adjusting in the chair but doing nothing else to draw attention to his erection. The fruit bowl is filled with a colourful selection, apples upon pears upon juicy red grapes. Levi plucks a shiny pomegranate from the bowl, slicing it in half so he can spoon out the red-jewel seeds into a delicate china dish. He offers her a heaped spoonful, holding his hand beneath to catch drips.

It’s strange how her desire to shovel as much food in her mouth is curtailed and cultivated by his focus on the luxury of eating, and not just the pleasure. There is a part of Sasha that _wants_ to scoff the seeds out of the bowl, but she knows he’ll click his teeth and call it a waste. So instead she lets him feed her bit by bit, loving the rich fruit flesh and crunchy seeds.

His gaze is always attentive, fascinated.

“More?” he asks when she’s finished the bowl. He examines the table, filled as it is with fresh-caught seafood and seasonal fruits, for another enticing dish.

“Yes, please.”

A calm descends over Sasha. She feels soothed. For once, she can just sit back and let someone else take care of making sure she gets enough to eat. She closes her eyes and enjoys the warm evening breeze through the open balcony windows, listens to the clinking china and soft breathing as Levi prepares whatever he wants to feed her next.

She remembers the first time he’d leaned across the dinner table, the rest of the squad barely paying attention, and offered her a shiny red apple. It wasn’t long after the kitchen incident. “Here, it’s the last one,” he’d said, not meeting her eyes. She hadn’t been able to ignore the way he’d watched her eat it, almost distressed.

Sasha recognised the hunger.

The light scent of the sea accompanied by a fresh lemony tang wafts beneath her nose, and she opens her eyes to find Levi offering her a prawn, its flesh pink, plump, and shimmering in the candlelight. Sasha can’t help it; she moans.

“Fuck,” Levi mutters, skin flushing.

She eats it straight out of his fingers, lips grazing his skin.

“Are you full yet?” he asks, voice growing rough.

Sasha shakes her head. “More, please.”

“Fuck,” he says again, shuffling his chair closer so their legs are touching, pulling the prawn dish onto his lap. “Open wide, then.”

The prawns are delicious, she cannot help but whine with each mouthful, watching helplessly as Levi’s cheeks get redder and his pulse flutters rapidly in his throat.

She washes the dish down with her champagne. He hasn’t touched his glass yet. “Aren’t you gonna drink yours?” she asks.

He shakes his head.

“Can I have it?”

He considers for a moment, but instead reaches for a plate of sugared cherry cakes, looking a bit desperate. “Have these.”

Sasha stomach finally protests, the sight of the food making her feel vaguely nauseous rather than hungry. She gives him a smile; they’ve reached the edge of the cliff, the cliff they always tumble over. “I can’t, Levi. I’m done.”

The sound he makes is sinful, kind of embarrassing really—then he drops to his knees at her feet. He rucks up her skirt, pushes aside her cardigan. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes!”

He gently caresses the skin of her pudgy belly, relaxed and full of food as it is, leaning down to kiss and nibble. “Sorry for being weird,” he mumbles, then glances up, chin resting on her stomach. “You’re pretty like this.”

She strokes his hair, feeling tender. Such feelings happen over time, she supposes, when sharing something as intimate as they do. Eventually she gets impatient and nudges his head down.

The nip of pain on her inner thigh makes her gasp out loud. “Levi!”

He sucks a love bite into her thigh, licking it afterwards, and the admiration in his eyes is clear to see. Then another to match on the other side, and one further up, another on her hip, little blossoms of red that only she will see, making his way inexorably to where she is dripping wet. She didn’t bother putting underwear on for this.

“Spread your legs out for—yes, like that,” he murmurs, reaching down to touch himself.

She throws her head back at the first hungry lick, spread out with her skirt bunched around her waist. She feels pleasingly full, and though she’ll never grow plump while in the military, she can at least fantasise a little about being some well fed, curvaceous house wife, boiling vegetables from the garden and roasting the meat from the day’s hunt, never wanting for anything. She wonders what Levi gets out of this—

“Ah, oh god!” She covers her eyes when he massages her with his tongue, flicking it just right, sending her into the heavens. The noises he makes are obscene, moaning between her legs, like a starving man. “Right there, right there,” she chants.

All worked up from the food, it doesn’t take much for either of them. Sasha spots the shudder that runs through his body, the deep groan. She trails her fingers through his hair, scratches at his undercut, undulating.

She whimpers his title as she comes.

The peace that descends on her bedroom afterwards is almost her favourite part. Levi’s dark bangs in messy snarls across her thigh as he catches his breath, the feeling of being satiated, cared for, cherished. “That was lovely,” she tells him honestly.

He huffs out a short laugh and leans back on his heels, wiping the sheen from his chin and looking a bit shy. The dark wet patch blooming on the front of his uniform pants looks like it’s going to chafe, but despite all they do, she knows he likes to make a quick escape afterwards. Speaking of—

Levi clears his throat, straightening her skirt like a fussy dressmaker. “You ordered too much again,” he remarks, getting up.

“I like it when there’s too much.” She has a thought. “Do you want to take some with you?”

He shakes his head. “Get it sent where it’s needed.”

She walks him to the door, waits while he chooses his words with a troubled expression in his eyes. “Are you still alright with this, Sasha?” he asks eventually. “Awkward old man like me.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sometimes, he’s really confusing. It’s not like anyone else would really understand this.

Levi just shakes his head. He stands on his tiptoes to give her a kiss on the cheek, then slips out, looking furtive. He needn’t worry, the palace is quiet, but he removes his jacket and carefully drapes it over his crotch anyway. Through the crack in the door, he offers her a quietly fond expression that she’s pretty sure very few people ever get to see. Then he heads off. She can almost see his retreating form stiffen up as he puts his barriers back in place.

She leans out, feeling mischievous. “Good night, Captain!”

Levi huffs in surprise and turns round, walking backwards for a few steps. Through the darkness, he points an unmistakably stern finger at her. “Remember you still have training at 6am, Sasha.”

_“What?!”_


End file.
